


Old Skin for the New Ceremony

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical Reinterpretation, Friends to Lovers, Gender Identity, Genderfuck, Genderqueer, Historical, How Do I Tag, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: A thesis on "making the effort".Or: a place where I'm dumping all my historical/biblical headcanons.





	Old Skin for the New Ceremony

_In The Beginning…_

_Slate-black curtains tumbled over Eden. Thunder growled among the hills. The animals, freshly named, cowered from the storm._

_Far away, in the dripping woods, something bright and fiery flickered among the trees._

_It was going to be a dark and stormy night._

And it was, for a while. Aziraphale wrapped his wings more tightly around himself and glanced down at the snake.

“Surely you’re cold like that,” he said.

Crawly stared up at him. He didn’t blink. “You look rather chilled as well.”

“Change form.”

“Clothe yourself.”

The angel let out a little huff of exasperation as rain dripped from his feathers and onto the ground around him. “I don’t want to expend the energy, given that I’m not sure what tomorrow is going to be like.”

“You’re not going back Up tomorrow?”

“Oh, I am,” Aziraphale said, in a tone that indicated he was not sure whether he was looking forward to it or not, “but…” He gestured towards the copse of trees some distance away, where the flickering of the sword had receded into the darkness mere minutes ago.

“I see.” Crawly didn’t, exactly, but he did know that if Hell had given him an item and he had lost it, he would be in very deep trouble indeed, and he was feeling almost sorry for Aziraphale as he slithered close enough that he was shielded from the rain under the angel’s wings.

Aziraphale let out a small sigh and resisted the urge to swat the snake away. Crawly coiled himself up, tucked his head under his scaly middle, and closed his eyes. He could have fit in the palm of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Why aren’t _you_ doing anything about the cold?” Aziraphale asked after a moment.

“I am,” Crawly replied, sounding very irritated. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Surely you’re not actually a snake. Wouldn’t you be warmer if you—ah—” It occurred to Aziraphale that he wasn’t at all sure what demons looked like in their natural state.

“No,” snapped Crawly. “I wouldn’t.”

Aziraphale didn’t push the matter.

Eventually, the rain stopped, the sun rose again on Eden, and Aziraphale stood, shaking the water out of his wings. Crawly stayed where he was, although he did open one yellow eye to squint up at Aziraphale in the morning’s light.

“I’ll sssee you around,” he said with a slight hiss. Aziraphale nodded absently, already thinking about his meeting with Michael, who was coming to collect him.

Well, Aziraphale thought, no point in feeling any regret over it now. What’s done is done.

With a sound like a small and lightweight projectile being launched out of an air gun[1] a beam of light opened up from the heavens and shone down on a spot several hundred feet away, near the center of the garden. Aziraphale walked forward for what he was anticipating to be a very awkward conversation.

Crawly watched sleepily as he stepped into the beam of light and then both angel and beam disappeared with the same sound as before. The demon stretched, looked around the now empty garden, and slithered off in the direction the humans had gone. East, into the sun.

 

It didn’t take long for Crawly to tire of being a snake, but unfortunately changing your shape is significantly harder than simply snapping your fingers. For an angel or a demon, changing shape is partially a matter of will and partially a matter of self-perception, and Crawly had gotten used to perceiving himself as small and slithery. Trying to will himself into a human wasn’t the problem. He could manage it if he focused. But there was something about Crawly, wrapped up in that name that he hated, that made sense as a snake, and so if he stopped concentrating he found himself slipping back.

And so he spent twenty years or more spying on the exiled humans from the peaks of nearby cliffs, from out of the reeds by the twin rivers, from trees and bushes and fields full of tall grass. He watched, and he made plans for what he’d do to them once he figured out the whole embodiment situation, and he found himself, without really knowing how it had happened, getting caught up in the petty drama of their lives.

Humans were fascinating. They’d been cast from paradise, left to make their own way in a world that was still new and wild and dangerous, and rather than put that sword the angel had given them to good use, they… well, they _made_ things. They made houses. They made odd little containers from clay to store and heat their food in. They made _friends_. The others[2] had seemed wary of them at first, this strange couple who had come from the west, but all it had taken to convert the newcomers to their side was the sudden delivery of Eve’s firstborn, Cain.

He remembered the night Cain was born for a long time afterward. Eve had screamed, and it had gone through him like an invocation. _I did that,_ he thought, listening to her cry, to her curses towards Adam. _If I hadn’t given her the apple_ …

 _If you hadn’t given her the apple she’d still be in the garden, naked, blind, and trapped_ , another part of him said. _You gave her freedom_.

Years later, after the second son was born, he grew to realize that no, she’d taken those things for herself. He’d offered her a choice, but she’d been the one who had _chosen_. That wasn’t something he could have done. That was what made them different. That was why they were here, the humans. They could _choose_.

In retrospect, he supposed he should have guessed the solution to his problem where embodiment was concerned.

He spent so much time watching Eve, wondering if it was even possible for him to feel regret about what he’d caused for her, that one day he changed into human form, just idly practicing the transition, to find the same black hair and long legs he’d observed for years. It had startled him so much he’d expected to shift back instantly… but he didn’t.

And he _stayed_ human-shaped. Not woman-shaped, exactly, and not precisely man-shaped either. His ideas about gender had been rather murky back at the beginning[3] and he’d been more focused on the fact that he’d finally, finally been able to stay in a form suitable for interacting with people. It did wonders for his confidence, which, of course, only made it easier to stay that way. For the first time, he was able to move freely among them, although he did his best to stay far enough away from Eve that she wouldn’t recognize either her own body or something in his essence that spoke of the serpent.

The restriction of avoiding the children of Eden turned out to be hardly any restriction at all, because humans in general, Crawly soon learned now he had access to them, were _brilliant_. They’d invented such lovely imaginative ways of communicating, for example. Song and poetry and storytelling, G- Sa- _somebody_ , Crawly loved storytelling. They all spoke the same language, in those days, but it was only through stories that they _really_ spoke the same language. People with nothing whatsoever in common, travelers from up the rivers and by the sea and over the blank stretch of desert, and one demon from Down Below, all were drawn together by the power of a good tale well told (or even badly told, so long as there was wine).

And there was wine. And _food_. Crawly had never tried to eat anything before, because it just didn’t seem necessary, but there was so much culture built up around food and drink that he couldn’t resist trying it, now he had a mouth suited for chewing instead of a jaw like a hinge and teeth that were useless except as a vector for poison. Food was good. Wine was better, but there were such wonderful sweet little things you could make with dates. He lost track of any grander scheme for a short while as he grew used to making use of his human body.

But eventually he remembered that he was expected to do things to make humans’ lives harder, and so Crawly set about putting the plans he’d dreamed up into motion. Cain and Abel had grown up into fine men in the years it had taken Crawly to learn how to walk amongst them. Abel kept an eye on the family’s animals[4] and Cain worked the fields. _That_ was something Crawly could get behind. It was back-breaking work, real suffering for the expulsion from Eden, and it kept Cain downtrodden even as it kept his family and their livestock well supplied with grain for bread and vegetables for feeding the flocks. It made Cain miserable, and though Crawly was supportive of human misery in theory, in practice it sucked all the fun out of his job if one-fourth of the humans he was charged with bothering was always too busy or too tired to think about things other than labor and rest.

So Crawly… helped him out a bit. He got quite good at it, in fact, at encouraging or cajoling or threatening plants to grow. It was a skill, Crawly thought proudly several times, that had been well worth learning, especially when he considered how much nastier Cain was to his brother now he had breath to spare for such things.

That nastiness, as it turned out, produced fruit Crawly would have rather gone without. Crawly was sprawled on a hilltop, the harvesting of Cain’s plants having finished up for the year just the previous day, watching Abel watch his flock in the valley below. He was thinking idly that he might make sure the man forgot to lock them all safely back in their paddock when he took them home that evening. And suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere… _it_ happened. Cain strode up to his brother and without so much as a friendly greeting, pulled out Eve’s sword sword ( _the angel’s sword_ , Crawly corrected himself) and ran him through. Crawly stayed where he was, paralyzed with shock, as Abel crumpled to the ground. His mouth was slightly open as he saw Cain head out of the valley.

Crawly waited for Abel to get up again. And waited. And when, after several long minutes, he hadn’t, Crawly got up from where he was sitting and headed down the hillside, picking up speed as he went until he was almost running to where Abel lay in the grass.

There was quite a lot of red. Blood, Crawly knew, and it dawned on him that Abel was dead. It was possible, because He had said that part and parcel of being expelled from Eden was the inevitability of death, but that was… that was supposed to be far in the future. Death was something that would happen to the people of Eden _someday_ , it certainly wasn’t something that was meant to happen to one of them _now_. Crawly could feel his breath coming fast in his chest and his control on his corporation slipping as he thought about the ramifications of this. Eve was going to be distraught, and Adam… and _Cain_. Did Cain know what he’d done? Did Cain _know_?

Crawly didn’t get to find out, because suddenly the sky had gone dark, and He was there, and then Crawly did lose control of his corporation as he flung himself down to the ground and got away from the valley and the Light there as fast as he could, streaking through the dust on his belly.

As he fled, he couldn't help but think back to the night Cain was born, to Eve, screaming in pain. That had been half of it. Here, now, was the other. The punishments heaped on Eve, both come to pass, and for what? Because Crawly had pointed out that knowledge was better than ignorance. Because she had chosen. Because she had _wanted_. It was cruel, and it was stupid, and Crawly was terribly, terribly frightened as he followed Cain away from the place the children of Eden had settled.

He found Cain several days later staying in the home of one of the other human families and sporting a nasty burn on his arm. The sword was hidden away in his possessions. Rather than trying to talk to him Crawly stayed a snake and took to hiding in the rafters of the house so he could listen in and try to piece together what exactly had happened.

Cain had been banished. He had indeed known what he was doing, and as punishment He had cast Cain away from the family and condemned him to walk the Earth without anyone to look after him or the green thumb that had been his livelihood for the first part of his life.

Crawly considered briefly following Cain around and continuing to whisper to his plants, just to spite the Man Upstairs, but this thought was derailed before it had truly left the station. As Crawly followed Cain out of the house he’d been staying in, still slithering along on the ground, somebody reached down and grabbed him round the middle, plucking him up out of the dirt.

“You.” A voice growled, and Crawly didn’t recognize the sound but he certainly recognized the tone. With some effort he shifted back to person-shaped and was surprised to find that the not-quite-stranger didn’t seem terribly bothered by the transformation, although he did, thankfully, drop him.

Crawly stood, blinking his still-snakelike eyes, at the figure before him. He didn’t _look_ familiar but he felt like an—

“Angel?” Crawly asked incredulously. “No, sorry. Of course you’re _an_ angel. Were you _the_ angel? The one from the garden?”

The figure crossed his arms, and it was then that it registered that this was most definitely a human, admittedly with an angelic aura. Apparently angels were inhabiting bodies, now. Well, good for them.

“Aziraphale.” The angel said coolly. “My name is Aziraphale. And you’re… Crowley, yes?”

Crawly opened his mouth to correct him, then decided no, actually, Crowley was a good name. Might as well get rid of Crawly here and now. No time like the present.

“Yeah.” The newly-renamed Crowley said with a grin. “Not a snake anymore, though.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“It’s convenient for hiding, temporarily. But normally I’m like this these days.” Crowley gestured down at his body.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and Crowley felt a flare of irritation ripple through him. He’d spent nearly a century without anyone he could speak to frankly[5] and even an angel was better than nobody when it came to all the new and strange and frightening/wonderful things he'd learned about corporations.

“Why are _you_ here like that?” Crowley asked with wave of his hand in Aziraphale’s direction. “You didn’t have a corporeal body either, last time I saw you.”  

Aziraphale’s expression flickered momentarily from cold to uncertain, and then tripped back to the haughty expression he’d been wearing. “If you must know, I’ve been assigned to Earth permanently.”

“Been demoted, have you?” Crowley asked, thinking of the sword, and Aziraphale bristled.

“That,” he snapped, “is none of your business. I’m here because of you, in fact.”

“Me?”

“You and Cain. I hope you’re happy now his poor brother’s dead.”

Crowley wasn’t happy about the current situation at all, but he wasn’t about to reveal to this angel that he knew were the sword was, and so he accepted the blame and changed the subject.

“Look,” Crowley said, uncrossing his arms, “why don’t we sit down and have a drink somewhere? There’s this nice little tavern in Nod, just over the mountain there. I’ll catch you up on what’s been going on since you were last down here.”

Aziraphale glared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment, and then his expression softened. “I don’t suppose it could do any harm _now_ , could it.” He said with an abrupt sigh.

“That’sssss the spirit.” Crowley crowed.

 

They had a drink, and another, and another, and it became clear to Crowley that Aziraphale truly was _very_ new at having a body. He expressed first suspicion, then concern, then delight, then suspicion again, and he aimed all of these feelings squarely at Crowley.

“Are you sure this is safe?” He’d asked, eyeing the large clay jug Crowley was hauling towards him with narrowed eyes.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Crowley said with a chuckle. “Think I’m trying to poison you, angel? I could probably do it more effectively directly.” And he could have, if he’d wanted. Crowley wasn’t venomous by nature but he could make his fangs deadly just as easily as he could make himself a person[6].

“No, it’s just… well, I’ve never consumed anything before. Not in this body.”

“Angels eat, then?” Crowley asked with interest. Demons bit and tore and occasionally devoured but it was for the pleasure of causing pain and not for anything like sustenance. It wasn’t something he missed about Down There.

“Well, not as such, but…” Aziraphale stared down into the cup Crowley had just poured him.

“Drink it, it’s not going to hurt you.” Crowley said bracingly. He threw back his own drink and spread his hands as if to say _see? I drank it and I’m fine_.

Aziraphale took a hesitant sip, and then a slightly less hesitant one. “That is… surprisingly nice.” He said.

Crowley grinned, less menacingly than he’d really intended. “Just wait until you try the fruit.”

As they drank and ate and Crowley laughed at Aziraphale’s developing reaction to the sheer _pleasure_ of it, Crowley told Aziraphale what had been going on with the people of Eden since they’d left the garden. He left out the bits about the gardening and about his first disastrous attempts at thinking himself into a person-shaped body. Aziraphale told him about his conversation with Him after being called back up and about how He’d been more than a little unhappy that Aziraphale had ‘lost’ the sword that was now under the bed in the guest room of the family Cain was staying with. Crowley thought, in that moment when Aziraphale waved off the fact that he’d lied directly to His face, that this was not somebody he ever intended to cross if he could help it

They made their way through a whole jug of wine and several date cakes before Aziraphale grew suspicious again.

“Ssss’been good to have someone t’talk to.” Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale squinted drunkenly at him, his eyes unfocused.

“Surely you’re in contact with Your Side.” He said.

“Not so much.” Crowley said, a touch sheepishly. “Don’t seem to like me, if I’m being honest.” This was the impression Crowley had gotten after he’d been sent up with the instruction to “make some trouble” and a vague hand-wave when he’d asked when somebody would be checking up on his progress.

Somehow this made Aziraphale angry. “Don’t try to make me feel sorry for you, it won’t work.” He snapped[7].

Crowley blinked very deliberately[8]. “Why w’d I want to do that?”

"Temptation is your whole," Aziraphale waved a hand grandly, encompassing Crowley, the drinks, the cakes, and apparently, all of creation in his irritation, "thing." 

"Ah." Crowley said, because he wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that. It was technically true, although not necessarily what Crowley had been aiming for when he'd invited Aziraphale to have a drink with him. But he could work with it. He had questions for the angel. "Since my evil plot is out in the open now, talk to me about bodies. It's just... well." He waved his hand in a mirror of the gesture Aziraphale had just performed. "Tell me you know what I'm talking about now you've experienced some of it, too." He leaned forward across the table, staring at Aziraphale. 

"I... what?" The angel asked, looking scandalized. 

Crowley grimaced at himself. He could have worded that in a way that was even slightly comprehensible. "Having a body. How does it feel, to you? What do you think of it? What are you experiencing?"

Aziraphale crossed his arms, his mouth falling open slightly as he glared in indignation. “I don’t know what you were expecting to get out of this, but I’m—oh, blast!” Aziraphale had tried to stand up, wobbled, and sat back down rather heavily.

“Sober up, you prat.” Crowley said with a roll of his eyes.

“How am I meant to do that, exactly?” Aziraphale said, his voice rising in evident frustration.

“Just… I dunno, think about how you feel now compared to how you normally feel and will everything back to normal.” Crowley said with a huff of impatience. Aziraphale squinted for a moment longer and then, with an expression like he was doing something very strenuous against his better judgement, he sat up straighter and shook himself.

“I—oh.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “That worked, actually.” He glared at Crowley again. “Don’t think this changes anything. This was a calculated ploy and the fact it actually worked," he shook his head, "doesn't reflect well on either of us." 

Crowley rolled his eyes again. “I’ll see you around.” He said as Aziraphale got up and left.

Crowley finished off the last of the cakes, staring after the angel with annoyance. He'd thought they'd been getting along well enough. _Ah well_ , Crowley mused as he stood up and slipped out of the building before anyone could notice he hadn't paid for their meal, _there's always next time_. To Crowley's knowledge, they were the only agents from either side stationed on Earth. Aziraphale would have questions eventually, and while Crowley may not have answers he had long, long ago learned that the more important thing was to have somebody else who joined you in the asking.

 

[1] Think a Nerf gun, or a t-shirt cannon, or, if you prefer, one of those things that shoots marshmallows.

[2] Oh yes, there were others. God’s chosen were not all the humans there were, they were just the most important in the two respective sides of the war. Remember this, for it will become important later.

[3] Everyone’s had, really. Sexual dimorphism had been invented on the fifth day, which was much too far along for most immortal beings to ever hope to catch up. Most angels and demons relegated the concept of gender to humanity and never thought about except as it pertained to human suffering or exultation.

[4] Which Crawly privately thought was rather brave of him—Crawly didn’t get on with other animals. He thought they could sense what he really was, or at the very least what he had used to look like.

[5] Not that Crowley had been able to do this before—Hell is not the kind of place that fosters confidences between coworkers—but the process of forging an identity for oneself is always something that is made easier by having someone around who one can talk to about the process.

[6] Which is to say, not very easily in those days, but not impossible by any stretch of the imagination.

[7] The reason for this was very simple: Aziraphale had been sent back to Earth with the explicit understanding that his higher-ups would be in touch only rarely, and that he was on his own. He was, in fact, feeling very sorry for himself about being alone, and Crowley announcing in that moment that he was in the same boat caused Aziraphale to go through a number of feelings in very quick succession before settling on suspicion, as was his nature when dealing with this particular demon.

[8] He didn’t need to, but he had learned from watching Cain and Abel interact with their parents that it communicated disbelief or confusion and he’d been keen to try it out for decades.


End file.
